


I hear you have a drain that needs snaking

by rayne_et_al



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fingering, M/M, Mirror Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Roleplay, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Roleplay, Stuck and Fucked, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), crowley is here to snake a drain, his drain ends up getting snaked, stuck, the husbands are horny and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29077257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayne_et_al/pseuds/rayne_et_al
Summary: A certain wily old serpent comes to snake Aziraphale's drain.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 190
Collections: Ineffablexxx - Directors Cut, Top Aziraphale Recs





	I hear you have a drain that needs snaking

The knock comes the moment Aziraphale’s cocoa has gotten to the perfect sipping temperature. Never mind that he is an ethereal being who could keep it at that perfect temperature indefinitely— there are some things Aziraphale feels are best enjoyed naturally, and cocoa is one of them. He casts his winged mug a regretful glance and then picks it up, bringing it with him as he pads toward the bookshop’s front door, which is happily adorned with a Closed sign. If they stick to script, there should be enough time for a few sips.

Aziraphale opens up the door to find a plumber standing on his step. He’s wearing a stiff black short sleeved button down that’s half undone and matching black pants that hang low on his hips, pulled even lower by a heavy tool belt. His name tag reads _Crowley_ , and he’s holding, oh good grief, the bloody tire iron.

“I hear you have a drain that needs snaking,” Crowley grins. Heavens, he does look tempting. The demon had been rather keen on wearing a boiler suit, arguing that it was authentic, but Aziraphale had flat out refused to fuck Crowley if it meant undoing some very inauthentic flap at the back like some sort of baby onesie.

“Oh, yes, do come in,” Aziraphale says, holding open the door. Crowley walks in, usual swagger amplified by the jingle and weight of his belt. “Thank you for coming. I’m Aziraphale, by the way.”

“Crowley.” Crowley makes a big motion of looking about. “Nice shop you’ve got here.” His eyes go back to Aziraphale, and he gives him a very unsubtle once over. “Very nice.”

Aziraphale smiles softly, and takes a sip of his cocoa. “Thank you.”

Crowley watches him drink, and even his sunglasses cannot hide the soppy sort of fondness that practically permeates off him, regardless of it being off-script. The demon had stopped wearing his once signature glasses when it was just the two of them since they had finally gotten together after the apocalypse that wasn’t. There was no more hiding on either of their ends. Still, he’d elected to bring them back today, no doubt to look more like an average and very human plumber. “So, where’s this drain you need snaked?” Whether Crowley is using these words again due to being fond of this particular phrase and its serpentine language or is simply repeating it because neither he nor Aziraphale know anything about plumbing is unknown, though, knowing him, it’s probably both.

“It’s upstairs, in my flat,” Aziraphale says, motioning to the staircase. “Please, after you.” Crowley seems to have taken some liberties with the fit of his pants— Aziraphale isn’t very familiar with work pants, or indeed any fashions past the beginning of the 20th century, but he’s pretty sure that they aren’t usually so tight. Still, it makes for a lovely view of Crowley’s ass as he ascends the stairs. “It’s just off my living room.”

The washroom is small, like the rest of the flat. Crowded in are all the essentials: a large claw foot tub, a toilet, and a vanity sink with a large basin and two taps, one for the hot water and one for the cold. A floral wallpaper covers the walls, and over the sink hangs an antique ornately gilded mirror.

“Right, then,” Crowley says, plopping down onto his knees. “Let’s see what’s going on here.” He finally sets the tire iron down onto the floor and opens the cabinet underneath the sink, wiggling in. It’s been miracled down into a snugger space for their purposes, not too small to be uncomfortable but enough that Crowley’s back must arch and sway as he maneuvers. The demon lets out a few thoughtful hums.

“Do you see what needs to be done?” Aziraphale asks, giving his cocoa a thoughtful sip and staring at Crowley’s ass, his lower half the only thing visible now.

“Yeah,” comes Crowley’s voice from beneath the sink. “I’ll have to come up and look at the sink. It’s something with the taps and, er, drain.” Aziraphale hums, clearly admiring how knowledgeable this plumber is. Crowley gives a wiggle as he reverses, tool belt jostling and pulling his pants lower. They slide down to reveal a hint of crack— he isn’t wearing any underwear.

There’s another wiggle, and then another. Still, the man remains half under the sink. “I think I’m stuck.”

“Oh, dear!” Aziraphale takes a slow sip, savouring it as it will likely be his last. “Are you really?” He asks, peering down at Crowley’s squirming lower half.

Crowley grunts. “Yeah. I’m going to need you to pull me out.”

Aziraphale gingerly puts his mug down onto the vanity. He then obligingly gets to his knees behind the other man. Crowley’s ass is sticking up, both his knees spread in an effort to brace himself for leverage; Aziraphale scooches forward until he’s between them, his hands going to gently rest upon Crowley’s hips. “Alright, I’m going to pull now.”

He tugs at Crowley, trying to be gentle. Nothing happens. He clears his throat and tries again, harder this time. Crowley makes a small noise of struggle that goes straight to his cock, which has been gradually swelling since they started up the stairs.

“R-right,” Aziraphale says, voice no more even than he feels. “Let’s try together this time, yes? I’ll pull and you push back.” He readjusts his grip, thumbs pressing into the hollows of the other man’s prominent hip bones. “One, two, three!”

Aziraphale makes good on his word, as does Crowley. He pulls hard, and Crowley pushes back with all his might. This does not, however, get the plumber unstuck; what it _does_ do is cause Crowley’s ass to press firmly against Aziraphale’s growing bulge.

Aziraphale freezes, hands still on Crowley’s hips. His mouth moves silently, searching for the sort of apology one would give a plumber who they’d practically just grinded into. Then, before Aziraphale can speak, Crowley does. “I, uh,” he starts, voice sounding strained. “I think my belt might be the issue, and uh, my pants.” He clears his throat. “You should take them off.”

Aziraphale’s cock could not agree more.

He makes quick work of them, his hand brushing against a bulge of Crowley’s own as he undoes his pants and sends them and the belt to pool at Crowley’s knees on the floor. The man’s small ass is gorgeous, pale and pert and just begging for Aziraphale’s attention.

“Shall I pull you again?” Aziraphale’s voice is thick and frayed around the edges.

“Yes,” comes a speedy reply from under the sink, and that’s all he needs. He pulls Crowley’s bare ass back to his erection and holds him in place as he circles his hips, cock pressing snugly against the other’s cheeks. A moan fills the air, and Aziraphale can’t tell who made it.

“T-this doesn’t seem to be working,” Aziraphale pants, grinding down again. The contact feels incredible, and his grip on the man’s hips tightens.

“I g-guess you should try something different then,” Crowley says, sounding as breathless as Aziraphale feels.

Right. Something different. “Spread your legs,” he says, and the immediacy with which Crowley wordlessly obeys makes him so hard that it’s nearly painful. The man’s legs are parted as much as they can be with his pants still around his knees. His puckered hole is unashamedly on display and practically twitches under the intensity of Aziraphale’s gaze. Aziraphale’s right hand leaves Crowley’s hip to stroke over his buttock, a soft sound of appreciation coming forth as he delights in the softness of his skin. The pad of his thumb ghosts down Crowley’s crack, eliciting a shiver. All Aziraphale can hear is Crowley’s shuddering breaths quickening underneath the sink as he places his miraculously slick index finger to Crowley’s entrance and then slowly pushes in.

The groan that meets Aziraphale’s ears is somehow even more intoxicating than the clench of heat that swallows his digit. His left hand rubs soothing circles on Crowley’s hips as he gently thrusts his finger in and out, then adds a second.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Crowley warbles as Aziraphale pumps his fingers as deeply as they’ll go. Aziraphale’s cock is pressed painfully to his pants, and his left hand goes to undo his fly and release himself. His cock is thick and the ruddy tip glistens with a pearl of pre-cum as it presses up toward his stomach, finally free. He quickly presses a third finger in and flexes his fingers, the need to bury his cock inside Crowley now too pressing to put off for much longer. Crowley’s thoughts on the introduction of an extra finger are incoherent babbles at this point, though Aziraphale gets the gist of them.

He pulls his fingers out as suddenly as he had slid them all in, ripping a sound of protest out of Crowley. He ignores it and instead puts his hands back on his hips. “You must be awfully uncomfortable down there,” he says, despite all signs saying rather the opposite. “Let’s try just one more time.”

 _One more time_ was the agreed upon cue phrase, and this time when Aziraphale pulls, Crowley pops free, falling back against him with a small oomph! “Ah, there we go, dear boy,” Aziraphale says, getting up and dusting off his knees before holding out a hand to Crowley. “Up you get.” His voice is back to something prim and proper, at odds with the huge cock that sticks out from his undone pants.

Crowley is a sight, his face flushed and golden eyes glazed. His sunglasses seem to have fallen off somewhere under the sink— no matter, he has a whole glovebox of them. His cock is as rosy as his face, long and curved and jutting out from beneath his shirt. He steps out of his bunched up pants with a wobble.

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow at the tool belt left on the floor. “Not getting too comfortable, I hope, Mr. Crowley,” he says, blue eyes glittering. “I do believe you said you needed to look at the sink.”

“Right,” Crowley says thickly, licking his lips. “The drain and taps and stuff.”

“And stuff,” Aziraphale agrees with a smile. “Well, do get on with it. I am paying you by the hour after all.”

Crowley bends to look closely at the sink, back arched as he stoops. Aziraphale steps close behind, his cock going to rest against Crowley’s crack. “Do you see what’s the matter?” he asks, reaching down to bend and pull Crowley’s left leg up to rest on the edge of the vanity. He makes a mental note to massage the demon’s legs later.

“Y-yeah, it’s the uh, the—.” Whatever culprit Crowley has come up with goes unseen because at that moment Aziraphale pushes his cock deep inside him in one motion and Crowley’s words die away, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

No matter how much Aziraphale does this, he’ll never be used to just how tight and hot Crowley is around him. His hands go to Crowley’s waist and press down, keeping his stomach flush against the vanity. Crowley’s hands desperately scrabble at the cool marble. “Now, Mr. Crowley, do focus on the task at hand,” Aziraphale chides lightly, pulling back and then slamming back into him.

He starts fucking Crowley in earnest now, thrusts long, hard, and deep. Crowley’s cries of pleasure fill the small room, his cheek pressed to the vanity and one hand gripping one of the taps, though now without any pretense of fixing anything. They’ve made love enough times for Aziraphale to know when his demon is close, and oh, heavens, he is too.

“You should see yourself, you beautiful thing,” Aziraphale marvels breathlessly. He reaches up to tangle his fingers in Crowley’s long red locks and gently pulls, forcing his head back. “Look at yourself,” he commands, locking eyes with him in the mirror. Then he reaches around with his other hand and gives Crowley’s cock a firm stroke.

That’s all it takes— Crowley unravels. His face erupts in ecstasy, his eyes half-lidded but not closed, never one to disregard his angel’s orders. Crowley orgasms hard, and clenches around Aziraphale’s cock; his cum shoots out and splatters on the mirror as Aziraphale loses himself and unloads in his ass.

~ ~ ~

Crowley gives a small hum of contentment from where he lies resting against Aziraphale’s chest, the angel’s fingers gently carding through his hair as he holds his book with his other hand.

“Takeout tonight, Angel?”

Aziraphale hums in agreement. “Yes, that sounds lovely, my dear. You’ll order it on your app thingy?”

Crowley snorts. “Yeah, I’ll order it on my app thingy. Want me to add any drinks?”

“No, no,” Aziraphale says, gently putting down his book beside him on the bed. “I’m thinking of making some more cocoa. Or perhaps you’ll make it for me?” He adds hopefully.

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley assents, nuzzling into his neck. “I’ll have the washroom fix itself up, too,” he says, thinking of the stains he left on the mirror.

“Oh, no, dear, not like that.” Aziraphale goes to catch the hand Crowley was about to raise for a miracle. The corners of his eyes crinkle as Crowley looks up curiously at him. “I was rather hoping you would dress up as a maid, next.”

“Bastard,” Crowley grins. “This is why I love you.” He leans in for a kiss, and begins to plan out his next outfit. He wonders how the angel will feel about some foreplay with a feather duster. _Well_ , he muses as Aziraphale kisses him softly, _only one way to find out._


End file.
